Chapter Text
The light is too bright when he opens his eyes.
He instantly shuts them close again, the glare not letting him take in even an inch of his surroundings. A headache is already starting to set in, the feeling accumulating between his eyebrows, slowly spreading towards his temples. He tries his best to rub away at his forehead, hoping the pressure will settle down. The motion helps, but he’s unsure if the headache is actually going away or that he’s just distracted himself.
He keeps his eyes close, not wanting to make it any worse. White still blares behind his eyelids as he tries to reach out for something.
What is he reaching out for? He’s unsure himself. His thoughts don’t seem to be able to connect the dots, but his body is reacting faster than his brain is able to. He goes with it, his fingers tapping for a surface, feeling for something. But the bedside table that should be to his left isn’t there.
Then it starts to dawn on him.
The way the sheets feel thinner than he’s used to. The blanket is not one that he’s felt on his skin. The clothes on his back start to feel lighter than he previously noticed.
But his brain starts to break down when he thinks about it too much.
He takes a break, deciding to give up on whatever his fingers are searching for and folds his hands back onto himself. Slowly he props himself up on his elbows, leaning his back against the headboard and taking a deep breath once he’s settled. His muscles feeling like they haven’t been used in a long time, heavy from sudden increase in movement.
It takes a while, his head falling back against the cold walls to try and still the constant ringing behind his eyes, before he feels comfortable enough to attempt to peak through his eyelids.
It’s white for a moment, pure white and nothing else. He squints slightly at the loud it all is, but forces himself to keep them open. Slowly the scene fades in and his eyes adjust to the temperature of the moment. Florescent lights bouncing off walls that start out as white but eventually turn out to be a dull cream colour. The vinyl flooring a slightly darker version of the same shade of cream. A TV sits in front of him, the dead black screen only showing a muted reflection of himself.
A little too long later does he realise that he doesn’t have a TV in his room. That his bed doesn’t usually have a metal railing around it. That he doesn’t have curtains surrounding his bed frame.
What is the colour of the sheets he has? He wonders to himself as he stares down at the material he’s sitting in. The wires in his mind never coming together.
It’s the sound of ceramic bouncing off the floor that takes him out of his daze. A muffled clang that wouldn’t take anyone by surprise, yet it is enough to grab his attention.
To the left is a door. Wide open, leading into a bright hallway. His awareness of it brings a sudden breeze into the room.
He thinks about his room. Where was the door again?
It’s his name that next echoes in the room. At least, with how his mind seems to perk up at it, he assumes it’s his name.
“Gojo.”
Yes.
Yes that’s him.
It feels right in his ears.
The voice comes from the door frame. A voice that is fulled with surprise, yet suppressed into nothing more than a squeak. There stands a wide-eyed woman, open hands now empty as the bowl she was presumably holding is upturned at her feet, hints of water splash her brown shoes.
The scene doesn’t change for a few seconds. She stands in shock as Gojo just stares back.
It takes a while but it comes to him. The image of her in his mind. Her distinct fringe that frames her face. The red and white clothes she wears so often. The way her fingers fidget when she’s nervous. The way she hides her laughter from him when he’s made a joke. The way her voice carries like a lullaby on a cool spring night.
Her name comes last.
“Utahime?”
It’s so familiar on his lips. He’s said it before. Possibly multiple times. Possibly again and again until she’s sick of her own name. It brings a lazy smile to his lips.
The way she’s snapped out of her daze only confirms that he’s right. He wants to repeat it again and again now that he’s remembered it.
Gojo watches as she rushes over, stepping over the spilled bowl of water and instantly placing a hand on his forehead. The expression of concern on her face makes a feeling of fondness rush through him.
“How are you feeling?” Her voice is professional, and yet he catches the crack she swallows right before asking. Like she’s had to push down her feelings to ask him a list of pre-planned questions.
But behind it all, he realises how rough her voice sounds. Not in a way that growls or is raspy, but as if she’s been crying and haven’t had enough sleep. He wants to reach out and ask what’s wrong, but he can barely remember his own name or where he is.
“I think I’m alright.” He watches as she nods quickly, happy and yet still concerned with his response.
“S-Shoko’s not here right now, and I don’t-“ she stumbles on her words as the panic starts to get to her. Turning her back to wipe down the water she spilled and put the bowl on the table.
“Where am I?”
She turns to him, still on the ground, halfway through cleaning up.
“At the school.”
He nods, as understanding starts to set in his mind. The school where he works. The school where he studied. The school where he has students.
“And Shoko … ?”
Utahime slowly stands up, an expression starts to grow on her face that Gojo doesn’t like.
“Why am I here?”
“Gojo …” she drags out his name as she steps towards him. The look on her face isn’t something he particularly likes, the colour of concern too prominent in her eyes. He can tell that she wants to say something, her lips part but the words never come.
“What day is it?”
Utahime swallows dry, “I think that’s what I should be asking you.”
Her hands frantically look for something within her pockets, the panic making her take twice as long as she should’ve to reach for her phone. Fingers almost shaking, unable to feel anything as the worry bubbles in her.
She should’ve put Shoko on speed dial.
“I should call Sho-“
“Ah, yes Shoko! I remember her face now.” He raises a finger to the air when her image starts to solidify in his mind. His old classmate, someone he can trust and someone that he considers a close friend. He’s almost proud of himself that he got it.
But Utahime’s concern only grows. The phone keeps ringing and the tone eventually dies out, Shoko probably resting in the little time she now has to herself. Utahime clicks her tongue in frustration as she stuffs it back into her arm sleeve pocket.
It’s been chaotic, too chaotic for one person to handle. Anyone that is able and uninjured is put to work, event those that have recovered over the months now help around. The bags under Utahime’s eyes probably echo those of her best friend’s now.
She looks back to Gojo, who is now staring at her. His expression holds a smile that feels almost foreign in the current climate. She knows it’s only polite and he’s probably still riding the high of figuring out where he is, but she worries what will happen when reality comes crashing down.
Utahime wonders if she should tell him everything straight out. Or if all that information will make him regress.
But he rubs his eyes and Utahime’s worries disappear, she only thinks of how his eyes must be hurting.
She pulls the black eye mask out from a drawer, pressing down at the creases as she sits herself on the edge of the bed beside Gojo. He shakes slightly at the presence of her hands near his face, feeling his awkwardness she apologies for entering his personal space but assures him that what she’s doing will make him feel better.
Utahime places it snuggly around his eyes, hoping that it’s not too constricting around his head, flatting his hair to not get it caught in ways that might pull at it.
Just when she’s satisfied and about to pull away, his hand comes up to hers, holding it in place against his temple. He slips his thumb against her palm, rubbing against it gently, as if he’s here to comfort her and not the other way around.
“Do you know who I am?” The words come out of her before she even realises.
“Utahime.” He answers confidently.
“What do I do here?”
“Teacher …?” The way he drags out the word almost makes her laugh.
“That sounded like a guess.”
“No, I’m a genius.”
Utahime’s eyes narrow in suspicion. At this point she’s thankful that he at least still has the same energy he did before he got captured.
She sighs and nods, not knowing what else to do. Lost memories wasn’t a side affect that was off the table. Nothing was off the table. No one knew what exactly would happen to Gojo after he got released. If he ever got released. She’s thankful that he remembers anything at all and that he seems to be in good shape.
She slowly presses her fingers to his mask, “Does it feel better with this?”
“I think so,” he says as if trying to figure it out himself, “Thank you.”
It’s only when she pulls away does she realise their hands are still intertwined. She excuses herself, almost having to peel Gojo’s fingers off hers as she goes to the corner of the room and pours a glass of warm water, popping a straw into it as she comes back to the bedside.
“Drink.” Pushing the straw between Gojo’s lips and watching to make sure he drinks enough. He lets go of the straw with a ‘ah!’, like a child gulping down a cool ice drink in the hot summer heat.
“Gojo,” For some reason her voice feels like a gentle whisper to him. So comforting and warm. “What do you remember?”
“Some things.” It’s an honest answer.
“Like what?” She puts the glass aside and looks up at him with such wonder that it almost takes him aback.
“Your name.” She rolls her eyes at his answer.
“And?”
“Students.”
“Good.”
“Are they okay?” The image of them is a blur in his head, but it’s all outlines that are coming together. Information he knows he has, just needing to push himself a little more to compile it all into a cohesive answer.
“Who? Do you remember?” He voice cuts through the mess that clouds his thoughts.
He lifts a finger as if trying to pinpoint exactly the names he is trying to grasp. Like it’s all up in the air and he just needs to catch them in his hands to make them come to fruition.
“Megumi.” He’s almost proud of himself when the image takes shape.
“Good.”
“Yuuji.”
“Anyone else?” She nods, not wanting to push him too hard.
“Nobara.”
Utahime instantly glances down at the name, almost like a reflex. The student’s condition is definitely not something she wants to bring up right now, and if Gojo were to continue with listing the second years, it might be even harder to tell him.
But Gojo catches the awkward silence that starts to settle and fills it with affirmation.
“Don’t worry” he taps at his temple, “it’s all coming back to me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I don’t think …” his eyebrows furrow, “I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything, it’s just that my brain is distorted right now.”
“That’s good to hear.” Utahime attempts to smile at the positive prospect, “But we’ll have to make sure once Shoko gets here.”
He nods like an agreeable student.
Gojo watches her as she hops around the room, tiding up clothes, getting him a towel, making sure the bathroom is ready for him to use. He wants to ask her so many questions. Why he’s here, what has happened, why his brain feels all muddled. But he knows that she won’t tell him, not until a medical professional comes around to check on him first.
Instead he just wonders what she’s thinking, the way she wears a smile for him and yet he knows that the gears in her mind won’t stop turning.
When she’s done laying down some fresh pyjamas on the edge of his bed, she turns back to look at him.
“Hey Gojo.” She fiddles with the end of her sleeves, but her voice has a tinge of professionalism. “They’ll be some bad news, and only bad news. I don’t want to overwhelm you so I’ll wait for Shoko, but … just be ready.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she puts her hand on top of his, trying her best to be a source of comfort. “I promise.”
Smiles can only go so far and Gojo can tell that they’re not reaching her eyes. She’s being much too nice for Gojo not to be slightly wary. And something tells him that she’s not often too nice to him in the first place.
“It’ll all be okay.” She says, not really knowing what she means by it.
He tries his best to echo her smile, maybe giving comfort back to her. He takes her hand that’s already on his and wraps his fingers around her.
“But are you okay, Utahime?”
She blanks, blinking back a question she hasn’t even had time to ask herself. No one has had a chance to sit themselves down and think about their own well being. That’s a luxury they lost right when this all started. Right when Gojo was sealed.
She only nods slightly, wearing a small smile before deciding to look down at her lap so Gojo wouldn’t have to see the tears forming in her eyes.
Utahime lets herself wonder, with Gojo back in the picture, if the chaos will finally start to die down.